


Coffee Ice Cream

by moonshiin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Ice Cream Parlors, Light-Hearted, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, love triangle?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshiin/pseuds/moonshiin
Summary: Lance can taste people’s emotions and Keith’s? They taste like shit.“Tell you what, if you can get this guy to taste like something that doesn’t make you retch, you win.”“Deal.”A mess where Lance can’t seem to figure Keith out, Pidge makes a proposal and Hunk just wants everyone to play nice. Pidge reckons it’s impossible, but since when has Lance ever backed down from a good challenge?





	1. Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is gonna a mess but its my mess :') i hope you guys enjoy and that we can talk about the story bc honestly i'd love to talk to anyone who reads this. kudos and comments are always appreciated!! ♡
> 
> p.s: shiro is happy i made sure of that

Lance was late. Again.

“Hunk!” he shouts, mobile pressed to his ear, balancing precariously on one foot as he struggles into his jeans. “Hunk, dude, I’m -“ his leg gives way under him, his bomber jacket the culprit underfoot and he hits the floor with a deafening thud. “Ow, shit!! Ow, ow, ow!”

“What was that?” Hunk’s voice is light, unbothered. “You’re gonna be late? Again? Wow, man. Unbelievable.” The sarcasm practically seeps through the phone and Lance rolls his eyes from his spot on the floor. From this position, he can see underneath his bed.  
“I really need to clean up.”  
There’s a short scuffle from the other end of the line before Pidge’s voice rings clear. If Hunk sounded done, he has nothing on Pidge.

“What’s that in reference to? Your life?”

“Hahaha, Pidge,” Lance deadpans, “my sides are splitting as we speak.”

“Anyways,” they reply coolly, “Allura’s running late. If you get in before her it might just be your lucky day.”

He gets up so fast everything spins for a second.  
“Pidge, I really could kiss you right now. Thank you, thank you, tha-“  
  
“Yeah, no… pass.” The line clicks dead.

He gives himself a chance to shake his head in amusement before the severity of the situation dawns on him and he rushes through his morning routine at breakneck speed. Can’t let one of Pidge's valuable tip-offs go to waste. 

 

 

The door of the café almost slams against the wall behind it as Lance runs in. His backpack is hanging off his shoulder by one strap, twisted in the collar of the jacket almost throttling him. He’d glared at it getting ready, wondered whether or not he should wear it after it nearly killed him.  
It didn’t take long for him to relent.  
Sure, it could’ve been listed as the first item in the inventory of evidence used in the investigation into his death, along with the other clothes that had formed a makeshift carpet on his bedroom floor, but it was cute.

He scans the café quickly, eyes darting across the small wooden tables and chairs dotted across the floor, the hanging plants and light bulbs encased in delicate glass cages. There’s no need for them to be lit at this time, the large floor to ceiling windows across the room are flooding the place in warm, early autumn sunlight. Lance always found the café warm and safe, a home away from home. And right now, with no sign of Allura, he couldn’t find it safer.

Hunk is standing behind the counter, humming to himself as he carefully stacks the glass warming shelf with freshly baked goods. No one bakes like Hunk and now, with the café filling with the mouth-watering smells of blueberry muffins, triple chocolate cookies and the café’s signature coffee cake, Lance almost forgets what he was so mad about. _Almost._

“Did you not hear the sound my body made hitting the floor? I could’ve died!”

As if on cue, Pidge’s head pops up from underneath the counter. “Hurray for you, you didn’t.”

“Please disappear back to where you were Pidge, thank you very much,” Lance pouts with a dismissive wave of his hand. Pidge’s glasses glint as they push them up with a strategically placed middle finger and slowly, not once taking their eyes off him, slink back under.  
Lance slides his backpack off before slumping heavily into one of the window seats. Groaning loudly, he presses his face against the cool black marble table top. Behind him, silence.  
He groans again.  
Nobody reacts.  
He sits up indignity, swivels in his seat and fixes Hunk with a piercing stare.   
“You asked ‘what was that?’, made me think for a second that you actually cared but no.” He huffs dramatically, chin tilted upwards, arms crossed against his chest for added effect. “You were gonna let me _die_ , Hunk. Like, _die,_ die.”

“Hey, Lance, man, don’t do this.” His voice sounds weary. “I’ve been up for hours. I’m sorry I didn’t check to make sure you were okay. Here.” He walks over, sighs as Lance turns away from him defiantly. Without a word, he places something in front of his best friend, the sound of a plate clinking against the counter top. Lance wills himself not to turn around but something, a waft of something gently curls past his nostrils and he gasps softly.

“You _didn’t_.”

“Didn’t what?” Hunk asks vaguely but it’s there, a smile in his voice.

“You saved me a slice of cake.” Lance feels so bad his bottom lip almost trembles.

“Course I did. Red velvet. Your favourite.”  
   
Lance turns. “Hunk-“

“It’s ok, buddy. Enjoy. Love you too.”

 

Allura walks in almost an hour later, muttering under her breath about horrendous traffic but by then the café is already up and running. The four of them work smoothly, instructions passing between them quickly and efficiently.

  
Lance remembered walking past the café months ago while it was still being renovated. A beautiful black woman with white, almost silver hair that contrasted starkly against her skin and perfectly complimented it had caught his attention. She was dressed in dungarees, confidently directing a group of decorators like a queen bee ruling over her workers. He had slid up to her with a waggle of brows and a cheesy pickup line starting with Princess only to have her knock him back with a tongue so sharp he’d stood there blinking dumbly, not actually sure of what had just happened.  
There was really only one explanation. She’d enchanted him. Simple as.  
And now here he was, with a job as a barista at the same café, working for the princess who he now knew was called Allura. All his attempts at flirting with her had failed but calling her Princess had stuck. She was everything you could ever want from a boss but had grown tired of Lance’s tardiness. If there was anything he was really scared of, it was what would happen if she ever caught him walking in to work late again.

 

“Hey. Can I have-“

Lance looks up into the face of a regular and finds himself smiling easily. “The usual?” he asks, marker already scribbling against the cup in his hand.

The familiarity in Lance’s voice must’ve taken him by surprise because he simply stands there, eyes slightly wide. “Um…”

Lance turns the cup, lets the guy see the name written across it in black. Ryan.

“You remember me?” he asks as his eyebrows shoot up and Lance can’t help but laugh freely.

“Course I do. You’re here almost every day. Not that I like- like notice or anything it’s just - ” he’s babbling.

  
_‘Great. Now I’m babbling. Stop babbling!’_

 _  
_ “ – you know, I work here so I should be noticing. Who can’t notice you?”

  
_‘Oh, my God. Kill me now.’_

Ryan reaches out a hand to wave Lance’s words away, face splitting into a smile so wide his eyes form into half-moon crescents and Lances breath catches in his throat just as the smell of warm caramel creeps down his nostrils, drips in warm, thick drops past the invisible obstruction, effectively letting him breathe again.

Caramel. _‘He tastes like caramel.’_

“It’s okay, really,” Ryan chuckles and Lance relaxes a fraction. The guy is looking at him tentatively, almost as if measuring his next words out carefully. He finally decides on them, leans forward, fingers twitching nervously.

“It’s -,” he clears his throat, right hand moving towards the nape of his neck as he glances down quickly before looking back up, the next few words spilling out. “It’s pretty hard to not notice you either, Lance.”

The smell of caramel is so overwhelming now that Lance has to breathe forcefully out of his nose to dispel it before it overpowers him. His face is burning with heat and he suppresses the urge to duck down under the counter because Ryan is still looking at him.  
  
Thankfully, Pidge of all people comes to his rescue when they call out Ryan’s name. Both their heads swivel towards the distraction before turning back to each other. Ryan chuckles again and Lance wonders how it's possible to fall in love with the sound of someone’s laugh.

“Guess I’ll get going.” It almost sounds like a question.  
  
“Yeah,” Lance says, forcing himself to act natural. “Enjoy your drink.” He turns towards the next customer only for Ryan to walk towards him again with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

  
“See you tomorrow?”

Lance almost swallows his tongue. “See you tomorrow.”

 

 

 

Lance doesn’t really remember when he started being able to taste people’s emotions. He always figured it was something he was born with. Well, that’s what the doctors thought, and he went along with it. There was nothing wrong with him neurologically. For all intents and purposes, he was perfectly healthy. He doesn’t remember how it started, but he’ll never be able to forget who the first person was to trigger it. 

 

_It was officially the worst day ever. The first day of school, already lunchtime and he still hadn’t made any friends. Sure, there was the girl he sat next to, but she’d turned her nose up at him, pointedly moved her chair away as far as she could. Also, the teacher had made her sit next to him. It’s pretty hard to strike up a friendship with someone you’re forced to sit with. So here he was. At lunch. By himself. With no friends._

_“Hey, can I sit here?”_

_“Sure,” Lance mumbles emotionally, not even bothering to look up. They probably had no where else to sit. Or they’re waiting for their friends. Nothing to get his hopes up about._

_“You ok?” the kid asks, a faint trace of concern in their voice and Lance, curious, finally decides to look up._

_Warmth. He feels them before seeing them. They’re just so warm that Lance wonders if he’s coming down with something. A few more seconds and the warmth morphs into a smell. A flavour. He sniffs and there it is. Freshly baked bread. Bread? He’s confused. Why would someone bring bread to lunch?  
He must’ve been staring for too long, been quiet for too long because the kid clears their throat awkwardly before speaking._

_“I’m Hunk. What’s your name?”_

 

 

“So,” Hunk asks, drawing out the word. Both him and Lance are clearing up tables, wiping them down for the next customers. They’re eager to head home, only working a half day. Pidge had left minutes before for a lecture.

  
“Spit it out, Hunk.” Lance recognises the tone in his voice easily. They’ve been friends for years. And Hunk isn’t the kind of person who can hide his feelings very well.  
  
“That guy from this morning, what did he taste like?”  
  
“You know Hunk,” Lance wipes the back of his hand across his forehead before standing, hands on hips. “We need to find a better way to word this thing because right now? It sounds wrong. Like, really wrong.”  
"But anyways,” he can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “It was caramel.”

Lances smile must’ve been bigger than he thought because then Hunk starts grinning and he can only imagine what they must look like to customers.  
Two guys, one in a yellow apron, one blue, smiling almost manically at each other across a table. One with his hands clasped and small, pink hearts practically floating round the head of the other.

“Lance!” he turns to find Allura gesturing to him from behind the counter.

“I’ll tell you all about it later?” he asks, stuffing the cleaning cloth in the pocket of his apron.

“Sure,” Hunk replies before pulling his phone out and glancing at the time. “I’ll wait for you, ok?”

With finger guns directed at his best friend in answer, Lance walks up to Allura with a bounce in his step.

“Sup, Princess?”

“Lance, yes.” she sounds distracted, gaze fixed on the double doors behind him.

“What’s up?” he asks, turning towards the doors, expecting something, someone to be there but the doorway is empty, propped open by two ginormous snake plants.  
A pleasantly cool breeze wafts in, carrying the light chatter and conversation of customers sitting outside into the interior, allowing it to mingle with the slightly warmer air and talk before steering it out of the open windows.

“You… expecting someone?”

“Yes,” she brightens considerably. “I am, actually. Or better yet, we are. You see, a new shop has opened up across the street. A quaint little ice cream parlour. The owner called a little while ago to say that they’d pop in and say hi.”

Lance nods, hands in his pockets.

“Unfortunately, I have to make a quick call. They should be here any minute now. Would you mind greeting them for me? For all of us? Make sure you make them feel comfortable. I’m sure I can rely on you.” Her last sentence is set with a friendly hand on Lance’s upper arm and he smiles.

“Anything for you, Princess.”

“Thank you, Lance,” she smiles, before turning on her heels into the back.

He’s halfway to the front door when the light from outside is momentarily blocked out by two figures. He makes them out to be two guys, one tall and well built, the simple white t-shirt he’s wearing fitting perfectly. The other guy… Lance almost stops in his tracks.

_‘Is that a mullet??’_

The thought is out his head the minute he thinks it, replaced by Allura’s words.

_‘I’m sure I can rely on you.’_

Lance stretches out his hand to the taller guy as he comes within range, his best customer service smile on his face.

“Hi, welcome to Expresso-Self. I’m Lance, one of the barista’s here. Sorry the owner, Allura, isn’t here to greet you. She had to take an important call.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Nice to meet you, Lance. I’m Shiro and this is my brother, Keith.” Lance doesn’t have much time to observe Shiro, briefly notices the calm, grounding voice and jet-black hair before his gaze is directed at the guy named Keith. He has a small scowl on his lips that looks like it resides there a lot. His hands are jammed into the pocket of his ripped black jeans, black gloves peeking out. Lance doesn’t expect he’ll get a handshake so doesn’t even offer one, instead nods politely. “Hey.”

There’s no acknowledgment from Keith apart from him leaning even further against the doorframe.

“We just moved here,” Shiro offers and Lance turns back to him. The way Shiro didn’t say anything about Keith’s demeanour made it seem like he was used to it.  
“It’s just the three of us. Me, Keith and my fiancé, Adam. He couldn’t be here I’m afraid. He’s at work but he’d love to come by.”

“We’d love to have him,” Lance replies smoothly and receives a warm smile in return.

_Vanilla._

The flavour doesn’t even surprise him.

They end up talking for a couple more minutes. He realises that the ice cream parlour really is across the street. If you look out the café’s furthermost window it’s there. It’s called The Big Dipper and even though he doesn’t get it he acts like he does. Not because he needs to, but he feels like the boy with the dark expression, the one who barely offered him a glance will judge him if he doesn’t. He ends up saying his pleasantries, watches them walk away before turning back inside.

Hunk is waiting for him by the counter, his bag on his back, Lance’s in his hand.

“That the ice cream guys? What did they - I mean, what were they like?”

“The tall guy? Vanilla.”

Hunk waits for the rest, but it doesn’t come.  
“So… the other guy?” he asks cautiously, watches as a scowl colours Lance’s brow.

“You know when you burp hours after eating something and can still kinda taste it?”  
  
“That bad, huh?”


	2. Cloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance learns that he needs to stop jumping to conclusions and giving himself sleepless nights over one (1) interaction that didn't even involve talking + someone keeps their promise

Lance can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes an image of Keith floats to the top of his mind’s eye. Keith with his stupid scowl and stupid mullet and stupid gloves like who even wears gloves outside of winter? He rolls over on his left side irritably, covers pulled up to his chin but the next minute he kicks them off, their weight suddenly stuffy and overbearing.

 Why is he getting to Lance so much? Is it because he didn’t acknowledge him? Offer him a handshake and a smile? Was that too much to ask for?  
A knowing maybe nags at the edge of his thoughts and he tries in vain to escape it.

 ‘No. No, nope. Not gonna happen,” he says aloud, tries to drown it out but it’s too strong, swims right to the forefront of his mind.

  _'_ _Maybe the reason Keith bothers you so much is because he didn’t have a taste.’_

There it is. Bright and clear as if written on the inside of his lids. No matter how hard he tries to shake it, the thought stays.

 Not that it’s a thought. It’s a fact. It had happened.

  
As he had stood there, willing Keith to give him something, _anything,_ almost vibrating with the need to be seen by him, the fact that he had gotten nothing at all in terms of tasting his emotions didn’t actually hit until he got home.

He wasn’t lying when he’d told Hunk his initial feelings. He really thought that was it, that Keith thought so little of him his feelings towards Lance were equal to the taste of a burp.

 But no. It was just the taste of nothing.

 Keith didn’t even care enough about Lance to recognises his presence let alone his existence.

 

The realisation stings enough that Lance can almost taste the tartness, hates how it clings to the roof of his mouth and seeps under his tongue, refusing to budge.

 Hot, angry tears well in his eyes and he hates himself even more for that. Why on Earth is he crying? Does it really matter that Keith doesn’t seem to like him?

 

_‘Yes.’_

It was stupid. One of those childhood insecurities he never seemed to grow out of. He knew he could be too loud, too overbearing, had heard it many times from teachers.

But being himself was never something Lance could tone down. If not those things, then who was he?

The thought of people disliking his character was almost enough to have him doubled over in pain, the contents of his stomach churning. He could never seem to understand it.

 

And now, as he lies awake, he can’t understand what he did to make Keith react to him like that.

What he must’ve done to come out of their interaction with his mouth devote of any taste and his mind swimming with unwanted thoughts.

 

 

 

“I have to what?” Lance screeches.

Hunk winches at the noise, fidgets with his fingers. Lance looks like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah, buddy. Allura told me to tell you.”

“ _I_ have to go to that mullethead’s shop and- and what exactly?”

“Take some coffee.” Hunk turns to the table behind him and swivels back with a cardboard tray displaying three tall cups.

“Oh so- we do deliveries now? Since when? And okay, say we do, why does it have to be there? And why me?” Lance might sound angry, and he probably is, but the emotion is buried under at least six feet of anxiety.

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk’s voice is cautious. He doesn’t understand what could be making his best friend act like this. “You okay? Want me to do it? I don’t mind.”

Lance shakes his head, defeated. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay. Let me put my bag down and…” he sighs, “get this over with.”

 

 

Sharp memories of the night before follow Lance like a bad smell. He drags his feet, wills time to stop, someone to bump into him and spill the drinks, the ground to open up and swallow him.

_Anything._

 It takes all of five minutes until he’s standing outside.

 

The parlour is small, two metal tables with matching seats positioned on either side of the shops front door. From outside, the windows are etched in gold cursive, ‘The Big Dipper,’ with what looks to Lance like a smattering of stars underneath them. There’s a deep, black awning providing shade, the gold lettering there striking against the colour.

 He steps into the shop cautiously, as if the brooding Keith will leap from some hiding space in the corner and attack him.

 “Stop being so silly, Lance,” he chastens himself under his breath, “what’s the worst he can do?”

  _‘I don’t know,’_ chides his mind, _‘maybe deny your existence again?’_

He shakes the disturbing thought away with a jerk of his head and walks further in, taking a deep, steadying breath.

 

It’s small on the inside too. Cosy. There aren’t any tables, only high stools lined up against the wooden table tops facing the windows outside. He places the tray of drinks on the nearest surface, free to take a full look around.

There’s no one in the shop and Lance wonders if it’s actually open at all until a handwritten sign propped on the counter catches his eye. He walks up to it.

 ‘GRAND OPENING: TWO DAYS.’ It declares in bold writing.

 Just then, he hears someone move about in the back.

 “Hello?” he calls out. “It’s Lance. From the café across the road?”

 The shadow in the back of the store starts moving until it morphs into a familiar looking figure. This time clad in a short sleeved black top and grey sweats.

 

“Lance!” Shiro greets like an old friend before walking around the counter to see him. He clasps a hand around the boy’s own and pulls him to his chest, pats Lance’s back and some of his anxiety melts away in the embrace.  
Shiro is warm, solid and smells of genuine vanilla. He must be a supportive figure in at least one person’s life.

He releases Lance, holds him at arm’s length and his heart stalls on a beat.

For a second it looked like Shiro was going to ask if everything was okay.

“It’s good to see you. What’s the occasion?”

 “Oh, yeah.” Lance moves away with a sigh of relief and walks back with the tray of drinks.

“I bought coffee. Courtesy of everyone at Expresso-Self.”

 

“Did someone say coffee?” Lance looks past Shiro’s shoulder to see a man walk out from the back. He’s slim with brown skin and glasses, a crisp white shirt tucked casually into a pair of dark, belted trousers.

_'This must be Adam,’_ he thinks to himself. _‘Shiro’s fiancé.’_  

“They did,” replies Shiro as he turns, allows Adam to walk to his side. They fit together like a puzzle, two magnets pulled towards each other as Shiro puts an arm around him and Adam gazes up at him with a look so full of love that Lance has to glance away for a second, the moment too intimate for him. He feels like an intruder.

“You must be Lance.”

He looks back up to find Adam smiling at him warmly, hand extended.

“Yeah.” He takes it. “And you must be Adam.”

“That’s right. Thank you for the coffee, Lance. You have no idea how much we appreciate it. Me specifically.”

“Yeah you must be, what? Around 80% coffee now, right?” Shiro teases and Adam shakes his head in amusement before moving back to his fiancé’s side.

“85 actually,” he chuckles softly, quickly checks the watch on his wrist. His features shift a fraction, the ghost of a sigh pinching the corners of his mouth and he looks up.

“I need to get to work, Takashi.”

“Okay,” Shiro answers softly, blinks slowly and Adam rises up to meet him. Shiro drops a kiss on his forehead, another on the side of his neck, squeezes him quickly before letting go. Reluctantly, Lance notices.

“I love you,” Shiro says and Adam leans forward, presses a quick kiss to the taller man’s cheek.

“I love you too, Takashi. See you tonight.” He pulls away, turns to face Lance with a pointed finger.

“You, coffee boy, are a lifesaver.”

 

And with that he breezes past, leaves the faint smell of cloves in his wake as he grabs his coffee and walks out the open door.

_Cloves. Vanilla and cloves._

The two are so perfect together Lance can’t help but marvel.

Of course they are. He could tell just by standing there. Vanilla and cloves. Comforting, almost milky warmth and sweet and spicy dependence.

 

“So, Lance,” Shiro says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Think you can hang around for a while?” he notices the boy’s hesitation and rushes to finish.

“It’s just that I need to leave,” he glances at his wristwatch. “now, actually. And Keith still hasn’t come down. I was wondering if you could leave him a message?”

 

Lance feels like he believes in fate. Luck or destiny or whatever, why else would this be happening to him right now?

 

He wishes he could say no but it’s not that easy. Couldn’t Shiro like, leave his brother a note? Text him?

Speaking of Shiro, the expectant, puppy dog look on his face isn’t one Lance can stomach turning down.

 

“Sure, I can hang around for a bit.” He hopes Shiro misses the false cheeriness laced throughout every syllable.

 

 

Lance doesn’t have to wait long. Words strung together by grumbles drift up to him from his place on a stool and he leaps up, stuffs his phone into his pocket.

 

_'This is it. Give him the message. Leave. Easy.’_

He turns to find Keith standing several feet away by the counter, sleepy, half opened eyes trained on him. The full-blown scowl and ‘if only looks could kill’ glare from the day before aren’t anywhere to be seen, or maybe sleep had a helping hand in dampening them. Whatever it is, Lance is grateful for it.

He opens his mouth to rely the message but a tuft of hair sticking from Keith’s head, right at the top as if he’d recently taken out a hairband catches his attention and leaves him wondering if Keith ties his hair up before sleeping. It’s long enough, so it’s possible.

And his pyjamas, matching top and bottoms. Solid red and black. Nothing else. Interesting.

 

_‘What the hell, Lance?’ Hurry up!’_

“I, er- Shiro- your brother… he asked me to leave you a message.” His voice rings clear and steady, if a little unsure.

"Is,” Keith’s voice is deep. So deep that it takes Lance by surprise. It’s the first time he’s heard him speak and maybe, again, maybe sleep has something to do with it.

“Is that all?”

“Oh, right,” Lance stretches out a hand, the last cup of still warm liquid clutched in it. “Brought you some coffee.”

Keith’s eyes light up as he moves forward quickly and cups the container between his hands delicately.

Lance clears his throat, unsure of how to word _‘You’re practically cupping my hand between yours and a cup of coffee, please let go.’_

“Right,” Keith mumbles, steps back before taking a sip. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them, fixes Lance with a stare that pins him to the spot. 

“Thanks.” His voice is so soft and sleepy Lance doesn’t know how to react. Decides to say nothing.

 

A light noise, a rush of air through pursed lips has his eyes flying to the source of the sound and he finds Keith.

“You brought me coffee, after yesterday?”

Lance’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Um, yeah? I mean-“

“I thought you hated me.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in.

 

_‘Oh, my God.’_

“I- wh-, Lance stammers, “you thought _I_ hated you? I thought _you_ hated _me!_ ”

Keith’s blank expression says otherwise.

“Dude, that first time we met you were looking at me like some dog shit on the bottom of your shoe!”

Keith’s eyes widen in shock, mouth opening to retort but Lance is still talking.

 

“I dunno, man. It just seemed like you wanted to be anywhere else but talking to me.” His voice is quiet, eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet Keith’s gaze.

“Hey,” Keith coaxes but he’s still avoiding his stare. It takes a second to realise his voice is loud with denial but to Lance may sound accusatory.

“Hey,” he tries again, whispers in an attempt to sound as soft as possible and is rewarded with Lance’s head twitching up slowly until they stand eye level.

Well, as close to it as possible with the taller boy’s gaze fixed pointedly at the edge of Keith’s right eyebrow. He sighs. Lance deserves an explanation.

 

“You’re right. I would have rather been anywhere else.”

Lance’s eyes are locked on his now, but not in the way he wants. “Really?” he snaps, “Okay. I get it. Sorry I-“

“N- no! Stop! Will you just _stop_ and let me explain myself before you jump to conclusions?”

He sounds so exasperated that Lance gives in, head spinning.

“I was annoyed.” Keith’s shoulders slump, suddenly heavy.

“Shiro practically moved us across the country to open a fucking ice cream parlour.” The venom in his voice isn’t hard to miss.

“Then he wanted us to greet people and act like some perfect family. So, no, I  wasn’t happy to be here. I was… angry, actually. And then you-“

“Me?” Lance gapes, the picture of innocence.

“Yes, you! You shake Shiro’s hand, take one look at me and then act like I wasn’t standing there the whole time. What did you expect?”

Lance’s mouth hangs open for a good two seconds. “Oh, my God. Keith, you idiot! I thought that if I gave you my hand you’d bite it off!!”

“Wait-what?”

“I nodded at you instead! Man, I- I even said ‘hey.’”

“W… what?”

“Politely!”

They stand opposite each other, Lance’s cheeks warm, a tell-tale sign of his agitation. Keith is almost like a statue, the styrofoam cup in his hand clenched so tightly his knuckles flash white with tension. They stand there for what feels like the longest second ever and then they’re laughing in disbelief, the empty parlour ringing with the sound.

 

 

It wasn’t the taste of nothing, Lance realises as he walks back to the café.

It was the taste of afterthought. The burp was an afterthought. Keith did have an emotion, a reaction to Lance and it was an afterthought.

He had thought of him later, probably towards the end of their first meeting. He was angry, just like Lance.

All that emotion wasted over miscommunication.

He groans out loud, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face.

Keith didn’t hate him. Which meant he’d probably grow to like him. Eventually.

 

 

“Hey, Lance!” he walks in to find Hunk gesturing towards him from across the counter.

“Here,” he hurriedly passes over a cup.

“Hunk,” Lance pulls a face, “you know I don’t drink coffee, right?”

“No,” Hunk shakes his head, “it’s for the caramel guy. Ryan. He asked if you could bring his drink out to him.”

“Me?” Lance’s voice rings high. He clamps a hand over his mouth. “But-“

“I’ll cover for you,” Hunk finishes. “Now go before his drink gets cold!”

 

 

Lance pulls a chair out, all thoughts of Keith forgotten as he sits across from Ryan and slowly slides his drink over.

 “Hey,” he begins, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hey to you, too,” Ryan chuckles and Lance gets why he’s caramel.

“So… you wanted me to bring you your drink, huh?”

“I did.”

“Anything else you need?”

“Your number, actually. If that’s ok.”

 

Lance breaks into a coughing fit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance choking bc hes shocked? mood  
> also to anyone who noticed keith still hasn't said lances name yet... youre good

**Author's Note:**

> lance: allura is an inspiration to us all. plus, she says my name like a rich person asdfghjlk i love this


End file.
